


The Future Shall Be What I Make It

by auberus, Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Eternal Plantagenet [3]
Category: 15th Century CE RPF, 16th Century CE RPF, Highlander
Genre: Alternate History, Crossover, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auberus/pseuds/auberus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry and his new companion discuss plans for Europe, and for the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future Shall Be What I Make It

After a day's hard riding through the incessant rain, Methos is extremely grateful to have a roof over his head once more. The lord who was providing it had been on the list of nobles to whom he'd been sent by Elizabeth, though five minutes in the man's presence had made it clear that he is entirely committed to Henry's cause.

There isn't enough room in the manor house for all of Henry's men, so the soldiers and most of the officers are camped out on the grounds, with the luckier ones in the stables. Henry himself, and the more important members of his entourage, have been given actual rooms. Methos had been a little surprised to find that he, too, had been given lodgings indoors, but he certainly isn't about to object. After all, it's still raining.

Henry and most of the others are downstairs, partaking of their host's generosity. Having felt no inclination to join them, Methos has taken his meal in his room instead. He's writing while he eats, sketching out plans for the upcoming campaign and finishing his journal entry, when there's a tap on his door.

"Come in," he calls.

Henry pushes open the door, a tankard freshly filled with ale in hand for himself, and a second for Robert, though he'd been offered wine by his host - the man's still uncertain why Henry prefers the ale to wine, although he likely puts it down to fostering a soldier's image for his men.

"The others are muttering that you're little more than an arrogant bastard, since you've neglected to join us for dinner." Henry doesn't think so, but he's not actually going to attempt to correct his men's assumptions without Robert doing so himself. He sets one of the tankards down carefully out of the way of the journal Robert has open on the small table. "Thoughts on our goals?" he asks, gesturing to the paper with what look like campaign notes.

"Among other things." Methos sets his journal aside and picking up the tankard. The ale is as good as any he's ever tasted, though he still misses the beer they'd once made in Egypt. "This is excellent. As far as the others are concerned..." He shrugs, dismissing them. "I've been called much worse than arrogant. Besides, it isn't arrogance if you're as good as you think you are."

Chuckling, Henry settles across the table from Robert. "True enough, my Lord Wellesly." The formality is something that's a matter of course for him with all his nobility, that keeps the mortal portion of it assured of their place relative to him. Even if it isn't something he necessarily needs with Robert, he thinks, any more than he does with Matthew. "Give them time and some military triumph of your own, and they'll change their mind soon enough."

"I'm really not concerned," Methos says. The idea that he might be is amusing in its own right. "I stopped worrying about what anyone - mortal or Immortal - may think about me some time ago." So long as the facade he's presenting to the world holds, he doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks about that facade.

Henry's smile fades a bit into something harsher. "Then hope they change their mind for my sake, for I won't have my nobles arguing among themselves when they're meant to be doing my bidding or looking out for their demesnes and other lands." He draws a deep breath, taking a long sip of his ale. "Tell me what you've been thinking on our goals," he says after a moment, changing the subject.

"In the short-term?" Methos smiles and takes another sip of his ale. "Chaos. Set men to raiding along the border between the lands you control and the ones still held by Elizabeth. Disguise them as bandits, and let them wreak havoc that can't be tied back to you. The nobility will be desperate to regain control and restore order, both of which only you will be able to offer."

There's a definite appeal to that, though Henry is concerned that eventually someone might tie the raids back to his soldiers, even disguised as bandits. "Even with precautions in place, and a careful selection of men to do this job, there's still a risk that it will be tied back to me. I don't care to be known for condoning petty criminality." Not that he won't use the tactic, merely that it needs to be carried out with care.

"Troops of armed men could be traced back to you, yes - or at least, people would be able to make an educated guess. If you choose the right men, however, you don't need to send out whole troops. Four or five men with the proper training can cause more damage than you realize, without anyone thinking they're associated with a larger force. If you send out ten or so of those small groups..." Methos smiles, and leans back in his chair. "Alternately, you could hire mercenaries, anonymously. If they don't know who paid them, they can hardly lay the blame at your doorstep."

"Both ideas have their merits and their risks." Henry eyes Robert a moment before making a decision he hopes he doesn't have cause to regret later. "I'll trust you to make the arrangements as you find is most effective and efficient." And it will give him a chance to see how Robert thinks, he hopes, by what course he choses and how effectively he implements it.

"Thank you," Methos says dryly. He's not entirely sure as to which route he'll take. It will depend on a number of factors, including the quality of the available mercenaries. "Now that's been settled, there's another matter that requires a decision. I know you want France back - but what are your feelings on taking the rest of Europe?"

Henry leans back in his chair, watching Robert silently for a long moment. "That I'm not yet content to give voice to the potential of such an ambition. To seek to claim so much from the beginning would seem the height of foolish arrogance, and I'll not risk the loyalty of those who believe in me to give them thought I might have such broad desires."

"I'm not asking you to announce your interest in it," Methos tells him. "If you are interested, however, the continent will fall much more easily if the seeds of its destruction are sown early." If he has a chance to pull strings, spread dissension, cause rifts between allies - the thought brings a reminiscent smile to his face. He's used those tactics before, with no small measure of success, but he's never had a chance to try them on such a large scale before.

"It would be more interesting than remaining in England and France in the long run." Henry smiles at the thought of ruling Europe. It hadn't been among his ambitions the first time he'd been king, but then, he'd only had a mortal lifespan to work with. Now, he doesn't know how much time he has to work with, though it certainly appears it will be an infinite amount.

"Immortality can get...wearing after a while. Making plans that take centuries to put into effect is an excellent way to combat that particular malaise." The Horsemen had occupied him for a thousand years, and he's been manipulating the Watchers for even longer.

"I shall accept your word on that, though I've yet to chafe under this strange gift I've been given." Wondered, perhaps, what has caused it, and what it shall be like to live for centuries or longer. If only for a short while before the enormity of it awes him too greatly. "Perhaps to begin with the lands from Rhine to the western ocean, from Italy in the south to my England, and perhaps also Scotland, if that might be managed."

Land enough to conquer in a few lifetimes, and if his heirs can hold it, to return to and begin the conquest once more, spreading east. It will be troublesome to be forced to regain territory he's hard-won every time he returns to his throne, though some may well be lost while he is elsewhere.

"That's certainly ambitious." The borders Henry has suggested are almost as far-reaching as Rome's were at the height of her power. Methos had been quite fond of the Romans, and of the way they'd pursued power and pleasure with equal fervor. The ascetisism that Christianity espouses has never really appealed to him, though monastaries make very convenient hiding places. "As for chafing beneath the burden of what may well be eternal life -- give it a few thousand years."

Henry chuckles, and shrugs. "It is a meager enough ambition for now, and perhaps later I shall desire more, if I could but hope to see my heirs hold it. That would be the limit in truth to what I might hold, as I would not wish to remain forever as a king who must attend to matters politic over matters of war, though the power does have appeal. It is not, though, enough to merely hold onto power when I've seen more of the world since I have died then ever I hoped to see before that change in my circumstance."

That Robert mentioned thousands of years gives some truth to his thought that the man was older than he by no small number of years. "And for the burden that you say this gift may be, I have time enough to learn the truth of it over as much time as this sorcery which binds me to this life may give me. The limits of which I do not yet know, neither in time nor in what it might heal."

"I wouldn't recommend experimenting," Methos says dryly. Caspian had done just that with an Immortal they'd captured early into their association, and he'd heard rumours of mortals doing the same thing over the years, though nothing he'd been able to substantiate. "Since you seem to be unique, you'd have to use yourself as a subject, and it's not the sort of thing that usually ends well."

"I have no intention of attempting to discover the limits of this gift solely for the sake of doing so. Nor in the midst of battle, though I might perhaps be less cautious than I ought." He's not worried for small wounds, and even larger wounds have healed faster and cleaner than they otherwise would and without scar. Even shattered bones have healed without leaving him trouble.

"I'd recommend keeping your limbs attached, if it's at all possible." Methos finishes off his ale and puts the empty tankard aside. "I've no idea what's keeping you alive, but based on my own experience, losing an arm or a leg might stretch whatever it is to its limit."

"Certainly the worst wounds have been the worst to heal; more pain in the healing than in the taking of them. I have yet to lose limb to enemy action or accident, though I've broken them all to pieces and sliced the flesh clean to bone." Henry shrugs, dismissing that concern for now.

"What have you in mind to set all the lands twixt the borders I've set to enough chaos that I might be welcomed for taming it? Save that plan which you have proposed for the taking of the lands bordering between myself and the woman who claims my throne, which I already know."

"That depends on you - on how ruthless you're willing to be." When he'd ridden with the legions, they had refrained from using the sorts of tactics that would utterly devastate either the lands they were trying to take or the people who cultivated them. Collateral damage hadn't been a concern; nor had civilian casualties. The Horsemen hadn't even been that careful. "And on how much of the customs and cultures you want to leave intact."

"I would not see the lands laid to waste such that those who are but innocents would starve in my wake. Those who defy me to my worst by fighting against my coming, though, I shall not spare, nor anything that they hold from me." A mix of ruthlessness, idealism and pragmatism that made his reputation before, for good and for ill. "As for their customs, it is kings and their nobles who make the customs; they will have as much of such as I wish to leave them."

"Not all customs are made by the nobility," Methos points out. "The ones the common people create for themselves will be the hardest to stamp out, though they can be changed. The ones that come from above will die when the structure that maintains them does the same. Your main concern is going to be religion. England's Protestant now, and the people will no more wish to return to Catholicism than the Catholics of Spain and Italy will wish to give it up." What had originally been mostly an intellectual exercise is beginning to take shape in Methos' mind, to acquire form and substance. "And then there are the various nations' colonial possessions to consider. The Dutch have territory in the New World; the Spanish a great deal more."

Henry isn't even certain that he cares as much for religion as he might have before, though if all profess to believe in God, he thinks it will be all the same to him. He's seen enough in a century and a half not to care either way for the sundering of Christendom by Martin Luther and others who have taken a path leading from the Catholic Church.

"So long as they do not take a political cause, like those called Lollards did in my first reign, I shall not care to interfere in that much, be they Catholic or Protestant. Indeed, I care not what they believe, so long as they believe in God, even the Jew and the Muslim, for there's nothing so different between them that I should care too greatly. It would be ill-done, though, to mention this too early to those who support me, or risk seeing their support vanish if they think I would be too kind to those they do not wish to have in their own demenses."

"That...is not a sentiment I've heard expressed by a ruler in some time," Methos says, after a moment of reflection. "Not in Europe, anyway. The Ottomans are a bit more tolerant of divergent beliefs than the Christian nations. Personally, I'm in favour of anything that means more Holy Ground." He's getting tired of challenges, and Quickenings stopped being enjoyable a few centuries ago.

"I still shall hold to the practice of the faith to which I was raised, though there is much in the world that it cannot encompass. Even those that believe in heathen gods I cannot entirely dismiss as wrong, though I should wish to encourage they shall be taught of belief in one God by those who might be willing to do so." Henry finds himself less comfortable with those beliefs than those of others who believe in God by another name, though even those he has encountered have proven no less capable than those of Christian faith. Only that he still cannot entirely accept the idea of more than one god to create and shape the world.

"As it is, my concerns are more in the way of political insurrection than of religious difference. All lands I conquer, be they French or Spanish or Italian or ought else, shall be brought under the crown of England, and shall be English lands. They may keep what religion they wish, they may keep such customs as may be needful to maintain the land, but they shall bend to the laws that I bring with me. And the language of government shall be that which I speak, though what needs be spoken to the common people may be translated into what tongue they speak so that they might understand. That is all I wish for those who I bring under my rule."

"I see no reason why it can't be achieved," Methos admits. "It's a nice balance between the Mongols and the Romans, and they were two of the most successful groups of empire builders in recent history." He lets himself smile faintly. "Though you could take it a bit easier on us pagans. Monotheism's always struck me as being faintly absurd, in all honesty. Altars to Zeus and Zoroastrian temples are as forbidden to dueling Immortals as churches and mosques."

"They might matter to those who are Immortal, but they are not my greatest concern, and I'll not have those who are more mortal than you or I look askance at me because I allow all they find immoral in these new people to go unchanged. I shall not insist that they must become of one religion or another that holds to a single God, only that they be taught of them by those as will. Nor shall I regulate what they may hold in their hearts or their homes, but there shall be no temples to heathen gods in my realm."

Methos sighs heavily, and pretends to look put upon. "What a pity. I was so looking forward to the reinstatement of temple prostitution." It's the kind of comment that's been irritating new Immortals for more than ten centuries now - and has hopefully gotten some of them to realize that the world hasn't always been this way, and won't always stay this way either. He lets a reminiscent smile steal over his face. "That was a good decade."

Henry raises an eyebrow. "A good decade?" He doesn't like the idea of openly permitting, much less promoting, prostitution. There are other ways to better employ those women who are fallen on such difficulty as must sell all they have to survive, and he would have such found for them.

There are those, he knows, who will take mistresses and lavish them with presents that are as good as coin, but those he turns blind eye to, so long as they do not harm their own family in the doing so. The same also who are discreet in taking a male lover, for he will not harshly judge what he himself has an inclination for. Though if they're foolish enough to draw the attention of all and create trouble for their family in public, he'll do as he must and leave it to the courts.

"I'd have stayed longer, if I'd thought I could get away with it." Methos grins. "No challenges, plenty of food, comfortable quarters... I've certainly had worse jobs." Modern chairs aren't nearly as comfortable as the divans the Romans had used, but he manages to sprawl out in his anyway. "It was actually considered quite the honour."

"Then, perhaps." Henry watches him with interest at the way he sprawls, all comfort and easy grace rather than inelegance. He still has to remember those who follow him, and who are quartered in the same house tonight. He can't afford a breath of impropriety as yet, not until he's crowned king, and has firm grip on the minds of all England rather than merely those of Wales who have rallied to his standard. "Now, though, it would be seen as a shameful thing, and more so a heresy to sell themselves in a house of God. Perhaps in time that might change, but for now, it is too much a risk to permit myself to make such a thing possible."

Methos shrugs. "The world changes; that's the only thing that doesn't change. You might as well try and stop the tides. As long as you remember that, you'll be fine. The only thing refusing to change ever got an Immortal was an early grave." That, or a few centuries stuck in a well.

"If while I am elsewhere, my heirs change the laws to better suit a changing world, I shall not change them to attempt to halt what has begun to change." Henry shrugs in return, leaning comfortably back in his chair once more. "As for those in all the newly held lands across the ocean in the new world, I shall do what I might to hold onto them, but I cannot be worried too much by them until I have secured the lands here closer to home."

"The resources in the New World might better help you to secure the old," Methos points out. "Just don't ask me to go. I've had enough of the ocean for a dozen of my lifetimes." He still harbours a vague hostility towards the Irish, and if he never sets foot in Greenland again, it will be too soon.

"There are others who will be better suited to exploit those riches, and would be glad for the chance to do so." Henry still prefers to secure his territory here, but even if he does not focus too greatly on the lands themselves, he can disrupt the flow of wealth from them to the coffers of his enemies. "And there, too, I might employ men and ships to divert those resources to my benefit, and lay the blame at the feet of others again."

He pauses, still watching Robert. "Also, too, I would prefer to have you close at hand rather than overseeing such operations, for all that you have put what you have to offer at my disposal." In part as he's uncertain that he will continue to hold the man's loyalty, and in part because already a thought has taken root, and he wishes to have him nearby if he might allow it to flourish. He's only the once truly taken a male lover for more than a few nights, and then he'd been far from home, and his lover the same if from another land, and it had been a comfort to them both. It shall be different, he expects, with the change in what he must be for the world.

"So long as you let me go when I must," Methos says. "I'll not lose my head for anyone. I've spent entirely too long keeping it on my shoulders to stop now." He frowns slightly. "In fact - I might need to absent myself for a week or two." If he's going to settle into one spot, he wants to know exactly where Kronos is, and what he's doing. The Watchers should know, and it shouldn't be too difficult to get in and back out again.

"It wouldn't be the best idea as yet. You're still too newly come to my cause for any to trust you should you vanish now, and should they not trust you, I cannot show to trust you either, or I risk losing their support. And while I am good at commanding an army, I cannot command that which I do not have." Henry doesn't know what Robert needs to do, but he knows the political nuances of the situation he's in, and he can't risk the loss of anyone yet.

"Then find an errand to send me on." Methos drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. "I won't do you much good if I have to vanish midway through the campaign. There's someone I need to track down. I think he's in Russia, but I have to be sure. I want him good and distracted before I start doing anything that will attract attention."

"With a companion, though I shall send one of the more discreet of my captains with you." Even on an errand, Henry can't afford to send Robert alone. "Do what you must, as well as carrying out what errand I send you on." He'll solve the question of precisely what by morning, something simple enough to trust a new companion with. A new companion who he shall soon make a favorite out of, whatever the rest say of it.

"Not a good idea," Methos says. "If I'm accompanied, I won't be able to get the information I need." He hesitates for a moment. He doesn't tell other Immortals about the Watchers, but then, Henry isn't likely to come after his Quickening. "There's a group of mortals who follow us around and write down what we do. I've used them before to keep track of Immortals whose location I need to know. They're incredibly secretive, though. I'd have to explain things to whomever you send with me." He tips his head to the side, watching Henry for a second or two before continuing. "How good are your intelligence sources? If you can find him for me, I won't have to go anywhere at all."

"I have contacts across most of the world I've traveled, though some will be less inclined to speak to a stranger that I send rather than directly to me." Henry shrugs. His contacts are most in the form of friends or fellow soldiers, not all of whom know who he's been or what he plans to be again. Or, in many cases now, the children of those friends to whom he'd been godfather or such equivalent as the culture had, or those soldiers whose bodies he had borne home, though they'd not been in lands which he was entirely familiar. "Who would I be asking after?"

"I don't know what name he's using now, but a description should suffice." Kronos has never been interested in keeping a low profile. "Dark hair, blue eyes. A scar, here." He traces a finger over his own face in demonstration. "He'll be with an army, or with a group of marauders, and he'll definitely leave an impression. Don't send anyone you care about close enough to him to attract his attention. I don't need to know details - just his location. And I'll need to know when he starts coming our way." It's almost certainly inevitable. Kronos knows him too well; knows how he plans, how he thinks, what ruses he likes to use. A detailed account of a single raid will be enough to pique his interest, and Methos has no doubt that, once his interest is piqued, Kronos will show up. He needs to know when the man is coming, so he can prepare, rather than be forced abandon everything at the absolute wrong moment.

A description that should get some reply back, though he doesn't know from where, or how long it will take to find out. "I might send a messenger to those who would speak with one sent by me, but I make no promises how long it will take to locate this man you wish to avoid."

"I won't be able to avoid him forever. He'll show up here, sooner or later. I just want to know when he's coming. Trust me - you do not want him showing up unannounced. He's one of the most dangerous people I know, and he won't be remotely pleased to find me making plans for you."

"Then I shall have to ensure we are well aware when he comes, so that all might be ready for his arrival." And unpleasantly so, if the man is a sort to potentially harm Henry himself or his newest favorite. "Though if he should seek to harm me for having you at my side to make what plans you do, he shall find me a more difficult target than perhaps he might otherwise believe me to be."

"Since he can't sense you, that's almost a certainty. He's never had much regard for mortals." Though the thought of what could happen were Kronos to manage to get his hands on Henry is more than enough to make Methos uneasy. "Unfortunately, when it comes to warfare, he's unpleasantly adaptive, and he has several thousand years more experience with it than do you." Nor, if he's being entirely honest with himself, does he particularly want to see Kronos dead. Elsewhere, yes - but not dead.

"I don't intend to engage him in warfare." Henry intends that if this man comes and will not be content to leave again, that he'll kill him. Another Immortal, to judge from Robert's words, so the method of destroying him is certain enough. And if he tries to kill Henry before he can be subdued, Henry shall be entertained by the man's reaction to his own brand of sorcerous long life.

"No one with any sense ever intends to engage Kronos in warfare, or in combat, for that matter," Methos mutters. "I certainly wouldn't want to. He knows me too well."

Henry listens, but he doesn't say anything in response, as he does intend to engage this Kronos in combat, if it comes to that. If he doesn't leave, and he's difficult about being taken into custody. Henry doesn't expect he'll be particularly good about going to his execution, once he learns the manner of it, but once he's in chains enough, even his desire to survive won't be enough to keep his head on his shoulders.

Methos looks away, drumming his fingers for a moment on the arm of his chair. The thought of finally being rid of Kronos, of freeing himself from the shadow that's clung to him and haunted him for three thousand years, is beyond tempting. Even the thought of letting Henry do it for him isn't unbearable, though it does make him feel vaguely guilty.

"We were close, once," he says quietly, "the four of us. Closer than brothers."

To condemn one's own brother to death would be hard enough, but to do the same to someone one holds closer than a brother... "You know of the history of my reign," Henry says quietly, not expecting any negative response. "There was a man, Scrope. Executed on the fifth of August, fourteen fifteen." The implication being that Henry has some idea of the difficulty in ordering the death of a man closer than family, no matter that the length of time he had with Scrope cannot compare to the lengths of time Immortals might spend together.

Methos looks at him without speaking for a long moment, then nods, acknowledging the weight of Henry's words and grief.

"When he dies," Methos says finally, "so does that part of my life." He knows better than to think it will mean an end to Death, but it will put the Horsemen forever past reclaiming. He hadn't realized, entirely, how very much he'd relied on knowing that the other three were still alive, still out there; on the knowledge that he could have that freedom and that power simply for the asking. "It's hard to walk away from what we used to be - what we could be again, for little more than the asking."

"That which is difficult can be rewarding. If you allow to be." Henry allows one corner of his mouth to quirk upward in a wry smile, though there's still an echo of old grief in his eyes. An offer between the spoken words of more than what else he's all but promised. No matter what the thoughts of others, life is both too short and too long to pass up the chance at companionship, particularly of the sort that might last as long as he.

Methos lets himself return the smile, leaning back slightly in his chair and stretching his feet out in front of him.

"True," he admits. "And there's really no place for what we were; not any more. Besides, the old has to give way for the new to flourish."

"To a certain extent." Henry nods, shrugging. "Some vestige of the old will always remain, and ought always remain, or all is forgotten. And what is forgotten can come back to cause trouble for the present." Such as a king dead a century and a half coming back to reclaim his throne from a woman he doesn't see as a legitimate claimant.

"As Kronos' appearance will certainly prove," Methos says dryly. No matter how he rationalizes it, it will be like cutting himself in half. The real question is whether or not it will be worth it: if shackling himself to Henry is a good enough reason to cut himself free of Kronos - of the Horsemen. "The question, though, is whether or not the present is worth the sacrifice of the past."

"I hope that I will be worth the loss, but I cannot say what the future shall bring. Only that I should strive to make you regret less the sacrifice of the past than you would regret the sacrifice of the present." Henry intends to make sure Robert has few, if any, regrets about abandoning this Kronos to his just fate.

"Maybe you should know what I'm giving up, then," Methos says softly, watching Henry. "What we were to each other - and to the rest of the world."

Henry is silent for a long moment, holding Robert's gaze. "Then tell me," he says evenly, without taking his gaze from where it was. Willing to listen to whatever Robert has to say, to learn what he's facing. It's what he must to, or he'll never succeed in his own plans with Robert.

"We shared everything, for a thousand years." Methos lets the fire capture his gaze, because it's easier than continuing to look at Henry. "Everything. Food, slaves, a bed - a reputation." He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help the reminiscent smile that tugs at his lips. "And it was quite a reputation. In a very real way, the entire world was ours: we went where we chose, took what we wanted, killed when we pleased."

Now he does look at Henry, meeting his eyes steadily. "And I wasn't alone. You're old enough, I think, to have at least some idea of how lonely Immortality can be. I was already ancient when I met Kronos, and so very tired of pretending to be mortal, with mortal fears and concerns - so we made the world fear us, instead. It was adolescent - and a permanence that is almost impossible to give up even after two thousand years apart."

"You made the present as you wished it, if in a different fashion than I intend to do so." Henry has never had that depth of sharing with anyone, not even the companions who've shared his life over the last century and a half. Or any of the men who'd been closest to him when he had been king the first time. "That the world should fear me is not an aim of my plans, but it may well be a side-effect necessary to achieve those ends, and one I shall not shy away from if needs must demand it."

"It may," Methos agrees. "Though I have difficulty conceiving of any plan that would require you to be mentioned in the same breath as the four of us. I'd not be here if I thought that was what you were after." He'll stay because of Henry's promise, and do his best to bring that promise to fruition, but he has no interest in helping to prop up a monster.

That there had been four of them is both a surprise and not much of one at the same time, and Henry tilts his head in acknowledgment of what's been said and what hasn't. "To become something that the world fears because I desire that fear would be to become an evil I don't wish to be. Though there are those who I should want to fear me, they are all the sort to cause trouble for my subjects, and ones I would defend them against."

"Even we didn't intend to become monsters," Methos says quietly, watching Henry from under his lashes. "Power, and the fear of others, can be beyond intoxicating." They certainly can be for him, and though he denies himself, it does not stop him from wanting. He does not usually let himself think about Kronos, or about what they'd been together, but now that he knows both are about to come to a final end, it's hard to banish either from his mind.

"I should hope I have friends who will remind me of who I mean to be before I should become that sort of monster. Men whose profession is peace; women who are still better than I with a sword." He won't easily forget his first encounter with Rebecca, nor the visits since. Sometimes he still feels the aches of being utterly trounced with a sword by a woman who is every inch the lady in addition to being one of the finest hands with a sword he's met.

"If I see you slipping, I will say something," Methos assures him. "May I inquire as to which woman gave you such instruction?" Given Henry's earlier mention of Salisbury, it might well be Cierdwyn, though Methos can't really see Matthew bringing the two of them together. Cierdwyn's opinions of anyone claiming to rule England are fairly well-known.

"The Lady Rebecca." Henry smiles a moment, taking a sip of his beer. "The first time I met her, she was teaching a former companion of mine to wield a sword, against his own better judgment. I wanted to be sure she was good enough, the more fool I to doubt her." He had only been dead to the world a decade at the time, and he hadn't expected the encounter with her or with her student. It had, in the end, been quite enjoyable, despite the bruises he'd acquired.

Methos nods. If Rebecca has countenanced Henry, perhaps he himself won't have such sharp words for Matthew after all. "She's very good," he acknowledges, smiling faintly. He can easily picture Rebecca knocking a more arrogant Henry down a peg or two. She's done it to Methos himself more than once.

"She is. Better than I, for all that I have been a soldier all my life. Though I do not have the constant concern that I shall have to fight to keep this long life of mine, as she does." Henry is glad he doesn't have that need, though he enjoys the fighting when it comes to it. More, sometimes, than the politics, but he wouldn't have one without the other. "I would give her the same I would Salisbury and yourself, if I thought she would take me up on the offer. A proper gift from a king to a friend."

Methos nods, the words adding a little bit to an idea that's starting to take shape in the back of his mind. "I'm fairly sure she would," he admits. "Holy Ground is rarely unwelcome to my sort of Immortal. I have less need of it than most, but I assure you, it's greatly appreciated." He leans back in his chair, smiling, and watching Henry from under his eyelashes. "Are we to be friends, then? After all, our mutually lengthened lifespan isn't the barrier it usually is." Henry's rank might have been a barrier of its own, if Methos were younger, or truly cared about such things

"I would prefer it." Henry watches Robert with a warm smile curling his lips. "Already there is talk that you are becoming a fast favorite, and I would think them right. For there is little reason to merely use your knowledge and skills to further my campaign when we shall both outlive the roles we play now. And I should like very much having more friends who shall not die in so brief a time as mortals do."

"And I'll enjoy knowing an immortal who won't decide that my head is more valuable than what's inside it," Methos admits. Friendship with another Immortal is all but impossible. Even he and Kronos had never been **friends** , though they'd been almost everything else it was possible for two people to be to one another. "Mortals..." He sighs. "After a few centuries, you stop letting them matter so very much, out of self-preservation, if nothing else."

"I would not wish to lose the chance to love merely to avoid the grief when those I love are taken or fade from this life, however their lot is cast." Henry shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. Memories flitting through his mind of men and women he's loved in the last century and a half, both when he had been certain he was mortal, and after he'd woken in his own casket. Some that still bear the sharp, raw edge of grief, others that are blurred at the edges from acceptance, with no pattern to which ones are which - certainly not all the oldest ones are worn and welcome, and not all the most recent have the jagged edge of pain.

"You're a stronger man than I am, then," Methos admits, picking up his cup again. Finding it empty, he scowls at it, trying to decide if he wants to risk doing anything about that in front of Henry. Immortality is one thing, especially as Henry had already known about it. The other thing makes Methos himself uncomfortable - it's too much temptation, and far too much power - which is why he usually pretends it doesn't exist, and uses parlor tricks to keep from doing things accidentally when it builds up. He's not sure how Henry would react, and isn't at all sure that he wants to find out. Except - except there's this little voice in the back of his head that wants to see what Henry will do, what he could do with that kind of power at his disposal.

"I can send for more ale, if you would like. Our host has more than is needed to satisfy the men, and can certainly spare enough for another tankard for yourself." Henry watches Robert, wondering what has caused the scowl, other than the lack of ale in his tankard. He isn't even certain that it is the empty vessel that caused it, as it doesn't strike him as being in Robert's nature to be that upset over something easily remedied.

Methos is silent for a long moment, weighing the various benefits and dangers attendant upon Henry's discovering just how much power Methos can put at his disposal. If ever a monarch should be allowed to know exactly what Methos is and can do, it's Henry, but in the end, it's the wistful look in the king's eyes when he'd spoken of lost friends that provides the catalyst for his decision. He'd sworn to himself long ago that he would refrain from using the gifts he'd earned by his pretension to a name no human should rightly claim for his own benefit, not to give in to the temptation those gifts provide, but this would be for Henry's benefit rather than his own. When he realizes what he's been thinking, he also realizes that his mind is already made up.

"There's no need to send for more, though I appreciate the offer." Refilling his empty cup requires nothing more than a thought, and he raises it to his lips, watching Henry from under his lashes as he drinks. Keeping his muscles loose and the tension he's feeling from showing in his face is, ironically, more difficult than refilling his cup had been. Immortality is one thing: what Methos has made himself into is something else entirely, and even the most open-minded of men might have trouble accepting the latter.

Sorcery is something Henry has had to come to terms with over his century and a half since dying, but it is still something that evokes a bone-deep fear that is hard to shake. It is not a fear he allows to shape his policies, but one he still works to overcome. Particularly since it is so clearly intrinsic in his own long life - although he has less fear of that sorcery than of those magics committed by others.

"I find I still fear sorcery when it is not that which keeps me preserved in the state I am. For all that it is a pointless fear, when I know not all such magic is harmful." Henry draws in a deep breath, reaching for his own ale, draining the last of it in a long pull. "I would ask how it is possible, and if it might perhaps be related to whatever sorcery keeps me alive."

A curiosity that is nearly as strong as the fear, after all this time. He hopes if he continues to indulge in his curiosity rather than his fear that the latter will fade, given enough time.

"It's not precisely sorcery," Methos says carefully, putting his cup aside and lifting his eyes to look directly at Henry. "Nor, I suspect, is the power that has so extended your life. Spells that raise the dead, or grant immortality come with a terrible price. I can't sense anything of the sort about you - and if anyone could, it would be me." He picks his cup back up again, using the movement to buy himself a few moments to consider his next words. "When I was younger, I laid claim to a name that I had no right to, only to discover a dozen centuries later that my claim - and my subsequent actions - had, essentially, made me into what arrogance and fury had prompted me to name myself - and that there was no way to undo it. Human belief is a powerful force. It creates - and unmakes - even the gods." He pauses, watching Henry for a reaction even as he tries to think of a way to explain without sounding as if he's gone mad.

Henry is quiet for a long moment, a thoughtful frown on his face as he mulls it over. "I would still, I think, call it sorcery, if only because it is something that originates beyond my understanding of the power of an individual man or woman." He studies Robert, his thoughtful expression not fading. "Though if humans - and from that I take it you mean those who possess long life in some fashion or another as well as mortals - are able to create something as powerful as God, rather than the other way around...."

He shakes his head, unable to find the words to express whatever it is that is taking shape in his mind. Firmly reminding himself that he has no more power than he did before he knew of this, that he is but one of many, and it requires those others to cause anything of note. It is that last that quells the sense of rising power he can only compare to his realization that he was truly monarch at his coronation.

"From what I know of magic, sorcery requires study, practice, and sacrifice. My...abilities require none of that. In fact, if I don't use them every so often, they begin to use me instead." He drains his cup in one long swallow and refills it again, and Henry's as well. "Magic also has limits. I have yet to find any to what I am capable of - though admittedly, I try to use them as little as possible. The temptation is too strong." He smiles faintly. "Most of the old gods faded out with the rise of Christianity, but I spent a thousand years and more calling myself Death, and that's one thing that humans will never stop believing in, because they'll never stop dying. And as if that weren't enough, the four of us ended up in the bible." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "As I said, I try to avoid using that part of myself, but avoidance only works up to a point, especially when men are dying in great numbers." The plague years had been especially difficult, the temptation nearly overwhelming.

Silent again for several long moments, Henry tries to wrap his mind around what Robert has told him, and in the end, finds himself unable to do so as yet. Not the entirety of it, at least, though parts of it do make sense. The rest, he will have to think on at greater length, he thinks, to comprehend. Perhaps it is more that an individual mind cannot truly encompass deity without being one. But there are still questions he has, from what he has been told.

"You say most of the old gods have faded. What of those that haven't?" Henry wonders if it might be one of those who has caused this in him - he certainly cannot think he is so important to God as to merit such a personal attention.

"There are a few of them left," Methos says. "The ones who have learned to get along on smaller amounts of belief. It was one of them who told me what I'd become. I'd thought I was losing my mind until she came along. In fact..." He trails off as an idea occurs to him, tilting his head to one side and looking at Henry, opening his mind and trying to see with the other part of himself. He can't be sure, but he thinks he can sense Anat. "She might well be the reason for your longevity." Shrugging, he continues, "I could have done it, anyway, and she probably could have as well."

Henry goes very still for a moment before tilting his head to one side, a small frown on his face once more, though his expression is harder to read with the mixed emotions that stem from that bit of information. "You could do something like this? As whatever as kept me alive this century and more?"

"As easily as I can take a life." Methos has never tried to bring anyone back, or to keep them alive, but he knows he could with the same certainty with which he knows that he can wield a sword. "I'm not sure if we all can, but for me, it's part and parcel of being Death. If I didn't spend so much time keeping that part of myself as suppressed as possible, I'd have known you'd been resurrected the moment I looked at you."

"It is as easy as that, for you to tell who is truly mortal, and who has been brought back, as I was?" Henry is curious about that, though not as much as he is about the ability to bring back those who are dead. It is a dangerous ability, if he takes the time to think about it and all the implications of it. Particularly dangerous when someone knows of it, and thinks they know a way to destroy Robert if he weren't willing to bring some loved one back.

Indeed, Henry thinks for all that he misses some of those he has loved, there are few he'd want to have by his side again. Even his brothers, who were so much a part of making his mortal ambitions become reality, he wouldn't wish back again. Better they are in their graves, safely away from the cares of this world.

But some few, not all of who still evoke the raw edge of grief, he'd wish back again. Indeed, he thinks the ones where the loss isn't so jagged are the ones he'd more ask for, as it would not be as wondrous to see them again. Glad, yes, and like to bring joy, but not as likely to bring confusion and pain at his reactions, he thinks.

"And you could bring someone back. With what limitations on that gift? I was only dead days when I woke in my own casket."

"I honestly don't know if there are any limitations. It's not something I've ever tried to do before." He's been tempted, and more than tempted - which is why he's never even tried. Methos knows himself too well for that. "I can't see why there would be, though. Unless you're Immortal, dead is dead."

"And the dead are your purview." Henry nods, thinking as he settles again, turning the idea over in his mind. So many he could ask after, but for now... no. As tempting as it is, he thinks not yet. Better to think about it, and who, if any, he might truly wish to see so much as to perhaps risk them bearing the same sort of mixed gift he does.

"If one is Immortal, as you are, and killed - what happens to their soul? Their power, I know, goes to the winner, but their soul?" Turn his curiosity to another subject, and let the thought of loved ones living again wait for another time, when the temptation is not so great.

"I'm afraid it's winner take all." Methos shrugs, keeping his face neutral with an effort. "Power, memories - everything that makes us who we are is wrapped up in the Quickening, and the battle isn't necessarily over when someone loses their head. It's possible for the loser to win the battle for control, if there's enough of a disparity between the combatants' ages or strength."

"A similar - perhaps the same - person, but in a different body from the one they'd worn before. If the one who lost the physical battle wins otherwise." Henry shakes his head. "And if an Immortal is beheaded by a mortal, or someone akin to what I am? What happens to them then?"

A concern, if Robert doesn't care to be present when Henry sees to it that Kronos is executed. Henry certainly doesn't want to have any of his other Immortal friends nearby when that happens, since he doesn't know what the difference in strength or age is between them and Kronos.

"It all gets lost." Methos sighs. "We try to avoid that, if at all possible. It's a waste, one that goes beyond even the waste that the Game is in the first place."

"An Immortal **must** be killed by another Immortal for that transfer to take place?" If simply a mortal wielding the weapon that decapitates Kronos will be enough for his knowledge and power to be lost, Henry might have to find some other method. Or find a manner to imprison the man indefinitely. "Or is it some other manner of determining whether the knowledge and power is lost?"

"It's a matter of proximity - which is why I avoid public beheadings. If you're close enough to sense someone, you're close enough to get their Quickening if they lose their head. Doing so in public is a great way to lose your own - or to end up tied to a stake, in this day and age. There are a lot of unpleasant ways to go, but that one's right up at the top of the list, unless the executioner is feeling merciful." Methos shakes off the memories that threaten to cling to him, and leans back in his chair again. "Quickenings aren't an exact science," he admits. "I made a point of tracking down every Immortal who was older than I am and taking their heads, and I'm still here."

Henry nods, watching Robert with a faint frown for a long moment. "If you'll not be present should I have Kronos executed, than there is the risk his Quickening shall be lost - as certainly I would not want any of my friends near to that, and risk them." He thinks it would be a pity to chance the loss, but the more he thinks on it, the less he thinks it would be entirely a terrible thing.

Methos is silent for a long moment. The idea of wasting everything that Kronos is appalls him, almost as much as the thought of taking a Quickening in public.

"I can't say that I want to see him lost. He was my brother for a thousand years, and still is, in a way." Then again, he doesn't know whether taking Kronos' head will wake up parts of himself he'd rather leave dormant.

"Then what would you have me do, should he not be willing to leave? I cannot, in good conscience, merely imprison him for an indefinite time, and if he comes, as you have said he will, all you have told me would have me believe he will be a threat to me and to mine." Henry will not allow a threat to stand, and while he does want to give his new companion some measure of solace in the manner of being rid of this Kronos, he can't let him live if he'll harm what Henry seeks to build.

Methos sighs. "In all honesty, I'll likely have to face him." Any other Immortal, any other threat, and he'd have been happy to have let Henry handle it. When it comes down to it, though, he can't let Kronos die on the block. His brother deserves to die with a blade in hand. "We'll cross that particular bridge when we get to it."

"I hope for your sake that he does not cause as much trouble as you have given me cause to think he shall." Henry frowns, before allowing the matter to drop. He's quiet for a long moment, before he reaches for his tankard once more. "I think ought else shall wait until morning, when I've had a chance to settle some of what you've told me tonight. Sleep well, my Lord Wellesly."

For an insane moment, Methos is tempted to suggest that Henry stay. It strikes him as a bad idea even as he thinks it, though, so he holds his tongue. Instead, he smiles faintly, and picks up his own tankard, refilling it with a small rush of power. Resurrecting dead alcohol is one of the few things he genuinely likes about being what he is.

"I'll be up for a few hours yet," he says, taking a sip, "but I wish Your Grace pleasant dreams."

"I think they shall be strange dreams, but I can hope they are indeed pleasant, for all that." Henry gives Robert a lopsided grin before leaving, closing the door gently behind him. He frowns in thought with the first step down the hall, only enough of his attention turned outward to navigate to the room he's been given for the night.


End file.
